Today was his birthday. It was about midnight and he was out walking around the town like he normally did. The sun wouldn’t come up for another seven hours or so. He could feel the touch of fall in the air. He saw some lights heading straight for him. He wasn’t worried because no one had actually driven on the road for almost ten years now.
All of a sudden he heard a familiar voice calling his name. He turned and saw his friend running to catch him with a box in his hand.
“Max! There you are.”
“Oh hey John! What are you doing up?” he replied.
“Well just because you don’t ever actually sleep doesn’t mean we forget about you at night.” John said.
“Thanks bud! You didn’t need to get me anything.”
Max watched as his friend ran and jumped into the air and flew away. He glanced down at the PFP then quickly slipped it in his pocket. He never used them, John knew that, but his friend was always trying to get him with the times.
Max and John had been fighting in the 456th ground division of the NACA, North American Continent Army, during the fifth Great War. It was January 23rd of 2025 when the Russian HOV tank had blasted
This years top creative short story. We had our challenge in our last issue challenging out readers to write a short story on anything they wanted. The author chosen is from West Union Iowa. His name is Sam Poppen and this is his story.